


The Moon and the Truth

by HermineKurotowa



Series: Four Paws [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Hurt Jensen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermineKurotowa/pseuds/HermineKurotowa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> I like to think the moon is here even if I am not looking at it</i>. - Albert Einstein</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon and the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile)[spn_reversebang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/), inspired by the great art by [](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/profile)[bluefire986](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/) who wanted hurt!Jensen. I hope I delivered :)  
> The title is from a quote by Buddha: Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.  
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta jj1564. Have some hearts, honey: ♥♥♥♥

 

 

 

He has already died at least a dozen times and, if he could have his way, he'd stay dead.

Unfortunately, fate thinks it's a great joke to not let him actually die. If Omundson gave him just one chance, he'd kill himself with his own bare hands, but Timothy Omundson never does anything for another person without recompense.

The burns are severe this time. His face hurts and he feels nauseous. Some water would be nice but he doesn't want to move. He's sure that some ribs are broken; this kind of pain is too well-known by now. Opening the eye that's not swollen shut, he tries to locate his water bowl, which is not easy with his blurred vision.

Too preoccupied with finding a solution to the problem of getting water without moving a limb, he misses the man entering the basement. It's the cell door's creak that makes him recoil, groaning with pain. Blinking, he attempts to clear his vision.

It's a tall man squatting in front of him, tall and muscular and he immediately assesses the damage these broad hands and strong arms could do to his already bruised body. His eyes though...

The man's eyes are strange and soothing, tree trunk colored and foliage green and sky above. His eyes are the only things he can see clearly and detailed.

“Are you Jensen?” the stranger asks, and he needs to think twice to answer properly. Omundson dubbed him _pet_ , his goons call him _puppy_ and _bitch_. His name though, the name he was born with, is different.

“Y-yes,” he croaks, making his throat hurt. It's only a small pain in a sea of pains.

“I'm Jared,” the man says, reaching out his hand. He – Jensen, he's Jensen, he just forgot his name – Jensen flinches, and the man reassures, examining his face, “It's okay, I won't hurt you.”

Then there's a bottle pressed against his lips. The water's cool, refreshing, fizzing over his chin in small rivulets. Exhausted, he's lying down, closing his eyes just for a moment, soon dreaming of woods and skies.

  
“Get up, bitch!”

He doesn't want to get up, though, and face the pain the day is promising to bring; also, he's so tired.

This time it's worse than... quite a while, at least six moons, maybe eight. He stopped counting days and started orientating himself by the moon a long time ago when he noticed that the torture followed a schedule based upon the phases of the moon. The best days are the ones right after full moon, after three or sometimes four nights of oblivion, when he is healed, mostly free from pain and granted a few day's respite.

He's weakest when it's new moon, when it's completely dark outside the tiny metal-grilled window. Then he clutches at the window's bars in order not to face-plant and yearns for the faint rays of the moon.

“I said, get up!”

It's Rick speaking and since the man is in serious need of some anger management training, Jensen chooses to be obedient. There's not much fight left in him, so he has to pick his fights carefully.

Getting up with difficulty, he waits at the door for the leash to be attached to the collar around his neck. The damn thing is giving him a great deal of pain today, burning his skin. You would think that he'd be used to it by now but it's not the case. Some days the sting is just a slight, easily ignored inconvenience and on others he could scratch his throat bloody.

When they pass by the treatment room, he knows where to go. Stumbling through the hallways, he vaguely remembers a time when they needed to shackle and guard him with a couple of goons. Now it's a dog leash that's keeping him in check, and of course the wounds and pains.

Fighting with broken limbs is not easy.

The ride in the elevator is needed to get his breath back. He's covered in sweat and breathing heavily from the effort of walking from his cell to the elevator. At his side, Rick is tapping the fingers of one hand against the nightstick on his belt. He's waiting for Jensen to misstep; on case of trouble, Rick prefers direct contact with his opponent, though he also carries a small arm.

The elevator doors open to the penthouse. As usual, Omundson is sitting behind his huge desk made of solid oak, with his entourage spread about the room. There's one tall man, though, that Jensen can't remember. Must be a newbie.

“Ah, there you are, pet!” Omundson exclaims cheerfully.

Rick hits the back of Jensen's knees with his stick in order to bring him to his knees. If he had waited just a minute longer, Jensen would have fallen to his knees on his own, so there was no need to hit him. In any case, the impact jolts his ribs and makes the burnt skin on his face and side stretch and hurt.

“This is my pet, Dr. Tristan,” Omundson introduces Jensen but of course doesn't think it's necessary to introduce the doctor. “He's a survivor.”

A hint of pride is resonating in his voice and it makes Jensen sick to his stomach.

“He's a superb specimen,” the unknown man, who must be Dr. Tristan, replies. The voice makes Jensen look up; he supposes it's the man who gave him water yesterday, but he can't be sure because his vision is blurred.

Blinking, he can see that the stranger is really tall; dwarfing the chair he's settled in. Jensen's sitting back on his haunches, eying him. He's handsome, his eyes are kind but his presence in Omundson's office means he should be wary of him.

Standing up, the doctor approaches Jensen. He grips Jensen's head and tilts it here and there, scrutinizing him with silvan eyes.

The doctor's lips thin to a hard line.

“Does he wear this thing the whole time?”

“The collar?” Omundson replies casually. “Oh yes. It comes off only at full moon. It's easier to keep him down and since it doesn't affect the results – besides, he does look good with it, doesn't he?”

“Are you sure about the results?”

“Of course, we checked three times.”

Jensen can remember. It hurt just the same, with or without the collar.

Letting go of Jensen's head, the doctor walks to the desk and picks up some documents. “What about his silver resilience? Did something change while he was wearing the... collar?”

“The data is more than two years old. If you wish, we can collect a current one immediately.”

Jensen's breath hitches. More than...? How long has he been here?

Closing the files, the doctor shakes his head. “That's not necessary. I'll content myself with what I already have.”

“Oh, it's no trouble at all.” Omundson's voice is oozing with joviality. It's the first time Jensen witnesses the man being accommodating. Unfortunately, this means a world of hurt for him.

  
Jared is working in the office he was assigned by the general. It still smells of the cheap aftershave of the guy who worked in this room previously, but by now Jared is used to it.

On the desk sit different piles of papers. There are so many files and data, so many well-illustrated cruelties... The bare facts alone already gave him nightmares but now there are also names and pictures.

This Jensen guy isn't the only hapless fellow that got caught in Omundson's clutches, but he is the one who has survived the longest. Four other young men were tortured and experimented on – they didn't survive. Jared won't let Jensen die a painful death; and it seems the poor guy doesn't even know how battered he looks.

He still hasn't found the person he came to save and take home. There's still a tiny little spark of hope in his heart that keeps him moving, even though it's been a long time to keep hoping.

A scream startles him, muffled due to the walls, but still clearly containing so much pain and anguish that it constricts Jared's chest.

He can't help the poor wretch, not until he learns more about Luke's whereabouts and the general's agenda. There were rumors spreading about his crimes in the Bureau for years, but no one was able to charge him, and now that Jared succeeded in worming his way into Omundson's confidence, he's less interested in bringing the man down and more in finding Luke. Nevertheless, he will make him accountable in the end.

There are more screams, high-pitched and heart-breaking.

He has to cover his ears in order to remain seated and not storm into the room where the poor bastard is kept and being tortured. It wouldn't do any good since Jared would be alone against at least fifteen thugs.

It takes too long for the silence to return, weighing down on Jared. He's trembling, pacing the room and rubbing his arms because he's so cold. He wants to do more than just wear a path in the carpet, pacing about like a caged animal, but it's not the right time yet.

A knock at the door makes him stop and wipe at his eyes. “Come in,” he says, drawing himself up.

The door opens and the general wheels himself in. “Doctor,” he greets.

“General,” Jared replies. His voice is firm, not revealing his aversion.

The general hands him a couple of sheets of paper. His eyes are the color of a winter sky. “I brought the examination's results. They confirm that its silver resilience didn't deteriorate. That's a good thing?”

Browsing the papers, Jared needs to stifle the urge to vomit. Every single figure in there has been obtained by torture.

“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yes, that's very good. We should give him some rest now so I can decide on what to examine next.”

“No need for that. The beast is good enough for the last test. It's only six days until full moon; we have to work quickly to get ready. I'm sure you can imagine that this one's the most important for me.”

Jared swallows. “You mean...”

“Paraplegia, yes. We finally need to get a grip on this condition. It's the last one on the list and it's the most important one. I don't want to elaborate on the consequences if you don't live up to my expectations, doctor.”

Jared stifles the urge to growl and snap. He has to restrain himself all the time and it's taking a toll on his nerves and maybe his sanity. He wants to rip out throats, starting with this bastard in a wheelchair.

“Of course,” Jared says coolly. “I know about this issue's importance. I won't disappoint you.”

Omundson nods.

“Good. That's good,” he says. There's a smile tugging at his lips and Jared feels a shiver run down his spine. The man is dangerous when he's in a good mood; Jared doesn't want to witness him being pissed.

He needs to wait until the mansion is quiet, which means even more self-control. He passes his time working through papers Omundson never wanted anyone to see: blueprints, site plans and duty rosters. Certainly there are secrets in there; he just needs to find them.

Later when the staff went home for the night and most of the thugs went to bed, Jared is frustrated and sad. He couldn't find any secrets; there's no trace of Luke but maybe there's one person who can give him a lead.

Jensen wants to die.

He prays to every god he doesn't believe in to let him die, but still he lives painfully. He can't remember exactly what they did but he's still coughing up blood compounded with silvery specks.

The sound he hears could be his name, but who in his right mind would come down here where Hell is...

“Jensen!”

He lifts his head, trying to see through the dark surrounding him. There's this man crouching right in front of him, the tall one, who's in Omundson's service but gave him water.

Jared with the silvan eyes.

“Please,” he croaks. His voice is almost non-existent. “Please, have mercy.”

He can't hold back the tears. There's nothing left of him; he feels pathetic and stretched too thin.

“Kill me,” he begs.

Jared's breath hitches but Jensen can't think about a reason. Anyway, thinking is too exhausting so he stops.

“Hey. Hey, Jensen.”

The poor bastard opens his moss-green eyes. His gaze is unfocused and he's breathing raggedly. All over his body are cuts, burn marks and punctures where they injected a silver solution. Black veins radiate from them, criss-crossing his arms and torso.

If he wasn't conscious, he could easily pass for dead. Yet there still is a faint scent clinging to his skin that puts Jared on edge.

Jensen's drinking greedily from the water bottle Jared holds in front of his lips. When he stops to catch his breath, Jared grabs the chance to speak.

“Jensen, can you tell me if there's another guy locked up in the mansion? He's really tall, with brown hair.”

After a moment of looking straight into Jared's eyes, the other man wheezes, “No one here... but me.”

Jared's hope plummets and takes his heart with it.

“And the dog.”

A dog? He can't believe how dumb he's being. He never thought about looking for a 'dog'; he always looked for a human male.

“Where is the dog?” he coaxes. “You need to tell me. Please!”

Again, there are these green eyes piercing through Jared's. They make a pleasurable shiver run down his spine.

Jared can tell that the other man is losing consciousness again.

“Jensen! Where's the dog?”

The reply to his question is almost too soft to hear. “The hallway... left side... downstairs... there's a kennel...”

Sitting back on his haunches, Jared stares down at the unconscious man. He needs to compose himself for a moment. Maybe this is it; maybe this is the lead he searched for the last three and a half years. Can it be that he's finally found Luke?

And then there are also the unmistakable signs he recognizes when he looks at Jensen. At first, it was compassion for an ill-treated creature but it just morphed into something stronger. He can feel it deep inside, working its way through his guts. He never thought he'd find it in a caged wolf on the brink of death.

On his way down the hallway he thinks about the further course of action.

Since this is definitely a case of kidnapping, physical injury and torture, he should call his superior at the Bureau. But since Omundson has also broken pack law on an unprecedented scale, he should also inform the were pack. Jared knows what they think about crimes against weres, and they don't take it kindly when a wolf is hurt by a human.

Avoiding the guards that are watching the premises, he finally finds the kennel. It's a too small fenced area at the rear of the mansion with nothing but dust and mud and a dark figure lying inside.

Jared rushes over and drops on his knees in front of the wire fence. He has to fight down the urge to shred the solid metal with teeth and claws. When he grabs it, it burns into the palms of his hands but he doesn't notice.

“Luke,” he whispers.

The wolf lifts his head. A heavy silver collar encircles his neck and he looks sick and mangy, emaciated to the verge of starvation. His tail though is patting the soil weakly when he recognizes Jared.

“Luke,” Jared whispers again. “Brother.”

Jensen's dreaming.

It's nice to not be awake, to not hurt for once, even if it's only for a short time. He wants to stay in this dream but a voice is calling him back into pain and agony.

“Jensen, wake up.”

Fingers are stroking his face. They are warm and soft, guiding him into consciousness.

“What...” he croaks, then coughs. His throat is nothing but a dry mess. A bottle of water is shoved into his hands and he drinks greedily. Water is running over his hot skin, leaving burning marks on it.

“It's me, Jared, “his voice is gentle, “I called the pack, they will be here shortly. You'll be home in no time, Jensen.”

Jensen puts the almost empty bottle down. He stares into Jared's eyes that are blue like the sky and green like foliage. He understands that Jared called someone who will free him and Jared won't stay with him but there's a thing he doesn't understand.

“Whu- what pack?”

“The Rhodes pack, it's the nearest one. They'll be here in an hour.”

“What do you mean... pack?”

“Werewolves?”

Jensen huffs. “Huh. I thought you just said werewolves.”

The look in Jared's eyes is slowly morphing into something like horror.

“Tell me...” he urges, “Tell me about you. How they got you.”

Jensen is brooding on this question. What happened three years ago?

“I don't remember,” he says. “I woke up here but I can't remember what happened. It's been hell ever since. They keep torturing me and I don't know why.”

Both of them are sitting on the floor, mirroring their poses: knees drawn up, backs against the walls. Jensen is still inside the cage since Jared thinks he's safer in there until the pack arrives.

He's aghast at Jensen's story.

He thought leaving his brother in the kennel was the worst thing he ever had to experience but he had no way to open the door. That's why he called the alpha of the Rhodes pack to ask for justice for the sole survivors of Omundson's agenda and to help free them.

Luke has been treated very badly, as if he was just a mangy mutt, but Jensen was being tortured and abused on a daily basis without ever learning the reasons. And he doesn't even know that he's a werewolf!

He got turned after he was forced to fight Luke ( _they shoved me inside the kennel with this huge dog_ ) but he never had a chance to connect with his wolf. The silver collar ( _don't know what's the point of this fucking thing_ ) he is forced to wear constantly prevents shifting, except when they take it off at full moon. Then Jensen shifts by default into his wolf, which heals both the minor bruises and the severe injuries ( _seriously, I don't know how they do it but I feel better after_ ), and when Jensen comes to after, he can't remember.

When Jared tells him he's a werewolf, he just stares blankly, so Jared shifts only his arm into sharp claws. It's a pretty cool trick he likes to show to the cubs.

“You're a... werewolf, too?” Jensen asks.

“Yes,” Jared replies nodding. “Born and bred.”

“Okay.”

“That's all? _Okay_?”

“Well, I don't have the energy to freak out. And it explains too much to dismiss it as complete madness.”

Since Jensen has no clue about what he is, Jared has to fill him in, even if it's only in broad outline. He starts with the two breeds of werewolves.

“I'm a born were,” he explains, “I can shift whenever I want since I was a little cub. You're a turned were, you only change at full moon. We don't turn humans often because they survive only extremely rarely.”

Actually, turning a human is considered a violation among weres, so that's another crime the general committed.

There had been four weres at the mansion, with three dead now and Jensen the last to survive. Had they all been turned? How many humans was Luke forced to turn? Forty, fifty, even more?

He talks about Jensen being an alpha wolf. All turned wolves are alphas because of their strength and will to survive. They are cherished members of the were society, warriors and protectors.

Jensen is stronger than any other wolf Jared ever met; he not only survived his turning but also three years in this hell; his chances are good to become pack alpha one day – on condition that he heals first. And Jared will make sure that his future mate will be whole.

He admits it to himself; Jensen's his mate, strong and beautiful. Once he's filled out a bit, he'll be even more gorgeous but he's going to need plenty of support, and Jared is determined to give him all the help he'll need. He can see the sparkling diamond beneath the dirt and bruises.

Then Jared tells Jensen about the experiments, the things he read in the files. Their single purpose was to gather information about how to heal certain illnesses and broken bones.

“They know how to heal Ebola and they'll sell their knowledge for a very high price.”

“Ebola?”Jensen asks in confusion, his brow furrowed.

“It's a viral disease,” Jared declares and he still can't believe what these madmen did, “that causes a severe hemorrhagic fever. You had it for almost a month until your wolf healed you.”

Jensen thinks for a long time until he reaches a conclusion, “I don't remember.”

“It doesn't matter. The point is, they got a lot of money out of you but what they really want from you is to know how to heal a severed spine.”

All this pain and hurt has been caused only for one reason: General Omundson wants to walk again.

Jared doesn't know further details about the accident that robbed the man the use of his legs but it's obvious that he desperately wants to get out of the wheelchair. It's hidden in the files and plain open in the success he expects from 'Dr Tristan'.

Omundson thinks it's time for the last experiment, the one that's supposed to give him his legs back and he urges its execution.

The reason to rush is Jensen's wolf; he's fading more with every moon since healing so many injuries and wearing a burning silver collar most of the time is weakening the poor creature. Instead of giving him time to recuperate, Omundson wants to harvest here and now.

They will shatter Jensen's spine in hopes of a miracle.

Jensen won't survive though, no were has ever been able to heal fully from this kind of injury and in his weakened state, Jensen won't survive at all.

Jared already tried to insinuate more than once that it may not work but the general didn't want to hear any of it.

Unexpectedly, howling pierces through the night, shortly followed by gunshots and men screaming.

“It's the pack,” Jared says and Jensen perks up his ears. It's a wolf thing that makes Jared grin.

Overriding the electronic lock is easy for him. When the cage door opens, Jensen's slowly standing, keeping a firm grip on the wall in order not to keel over.

“You ready to get this thing off?” he asks, gesturing towards the collar.

On Jensen's nod, he slowly raises his hands and fumbles with the lock. Three hands are needed to get it open so he takes Jensen's right hand and indicates where to press.

With a soft _tic_ the collar falls open and in halves to the floor.

For the first time, Jensen's wolf is free.

Jensen feels strange.

Jared 's talking about some weird things but he believes him. In the last years, he never knew why he was being tormented, what was happening to him, and as bizarre as Jared's story is, it makes sense in his dazed mind.

When the collar comes off, the world tilts only a little bit. It's gaining pace and becoming clearer. It's a new world, a new life, composed of molecules he never noticed before. The most striking thing is the scent that's assailing him - it's to die for.

It takes a minute to ascertain that it's Jared smelling like the most enticing piece of meat or pastry.

There's a presence inside him, somewhere in his mind, caressing and caring, spreading out all through his body. He can feel fur and claws bursting out of him. New bones and strange organs are realigning themselves.

Something's wrong with his eyesight. It's just the way it should be, though, even if Jensen can't tell what's different.

He feels elated, actually happy after being confined for so long. He's wagging his tail and stretching his legs, all four of them. His human is confused but that's okay. He'll show him soon how it is to howl and run under the moon.

First, he needs to bounce and jump, use his muscles. He's circling Jared who is baring his teeth but it's a friendly sign, not threatening. He's sniffing and scenting, enjoying the whiffs of _delicious_ and _mate_.

Then there's another smell and when Jensen turns his head, growling, there's one of Omundson's pack members, Mark, standing in the cellar entrance wielding a gun as if it is a snake.

Now Jensen can get his revenge, at least partly. He has to protect Jared too, though. That's why it's easy and quick, killing Mark with sharp teeth. Sweet blood on his tongue makes him crave for more, for the taste of a certain human.

Jensen looks up at Jared. Jared looks down at Jensen.

Jared goes down on one knee and proudly ruffles Jensen's bloodied coat, and the only thing Jensen can do is to pant happily.

The wolf beside Jared sniffs the door. He's beautiful, all silvery gray coat and strong muscles. With just a bit more food and care he will be a stunning specimen of werehood.

He looks grim and determined, and Jared can understand. He himself feels itchy and wired, wants to run and howl. Beneath his skin, his own wolf is panting in anticipation.

He can hear the pack roaming about the building and premises. They're searching the rooms for the general's thugs and victims and anything that could be of interest for the FBI. Occasionally, there are shots and hoarse screams and Jared knows that some unfortunate bastard's come to a sorry end between wolf jaws.

He pets Jensen's back signaling to stay put. Jensen sits back on his haunches and tilts his head.

“Soon,” Jared promises and Jensen tilts his head to the other side.

Opening the door to Omundson's office, Jared can see him sitting in his wheelchair and clutching a briefcase stuffed with papers. His right-hand man Rick is pushing him towards the door but stops dead in his tracks the moment he notices Jared.

The room stinks of fear and panic.

A gun materializes in Rick's hand. It makes Jared grin cruelly. Does the idiot really think he could impress him with that thing?

“Hello, General,” he says.

Omundson's face is sickly pale. He's clinging to the briefcase with white knuckles.

Outside, a wolf howls.

“You,” Omundson gasps, “it was you.”

“Not exactly.” Jared leans against the doorjamb, thus blocking the view of Jensen who waits patiently in the hallway.

“I only left a gate to the premises open,” he continues, “but it was you who sealed your own fate the moment you laid a finger on my brother.”

Jared pauses a minute. He's savoring the confusion that is written all over the general's face.

“I'm talking about the werewolf you've been abusing and torturing for more than three years. The one in the kennel in the backyard. He's my brother which makes me -” he pauses just for the sake of suspense, “ - a were.”

And there it is, the moment of realization. Omundson's eyes widen in horror and Rick gasps. The gun in his hand is shaking.

“I don't think you know much about weres or else you never would have hurt one.” Jared shifts his stance, relaxing against the doorjamb. He can feel his wolf's coat brushing against the inside of his skin when the beast is moving.

The wolf is eager to pounce but Jared can't let him; this is not their kill.

“There's nothing more important than the pack. It means more than a human family. It's a bond that can't be broken. When you hurt a were, you hurt the pack. And now guess what this means for you, general?”

When Omundson starts speaking, Jared can smell the fear that's coming from both men increase. Apparently, they know what werewolves are capable of and are scared witless with good reason.

“You're nothing but a wild animal! I don't know why your resistance to illness is so oversized but I do know that you're not worth it!”

Jared dodges the bullet that Rick's firing just by tilting his head. The little shit really thinks he could get the better of him.

Omundson continues unperturbed. “You don't deserve this gift but humankind does!”

“You didn't do this for humankind, you did it only for yourself. The cures you found were sold to the highest bidder to fund your own case. But did you know that weres have scientists and healers? We could have helped you if you had asked nicely.”

“Now it's time to meet your fate,” Jared says and pushes the door open.

The look on Jensen's face is honest-to-goodness smugness when he strolls inside. His coat is gleaming in the light.

“May I introduce?” Jared's voice is dripping with sarcasm. ”General, meet Jensen, the were you held captive for the past three years. Jensen, you know General Omundson - he's the man accountable for your and Luke's suffering and the killing of at least four young men in the name of science. And I think you already know Rick.”

Jensen growls. The wolf's need to tear and rip is palpable, and the humans' fear taste delicious on Jared's tongue.

The wolf darts gracefully through the room in order to avoid being shot. Circling the men, he goes for Rick first and rips out his guts.

The general has to watch. He can't escape since Jared is blocking the only exit. Parrying the attacking animal off with the briefcase is pointless and only delays the inevitable.

Jensen takes his sweet time.

When General Timothy Omundson dies, he's a screaming mess. He's missing great chunks of his limbs; Jensen just went for his legs for psychological reasons – Omundson can't feel the pain but he can see them being mauled.

Jared's proud of Jensen. He's strong and beautiful, a proud and perfect predator. He's the ideal mate.

Sitting down on his haunches in front of Jared, the wolf looks at him expectantly. His tail is wagging leisurely.

Jared bends over and takes his muzzle in both hands, rubbing his thumbs over bloody fur. Jensen's wolf eyes are still moss-green.

“Let's get home,” Jared says, “You need to start healing and I need to tell you about our pack. And about mateship. That's very important, mateship.”

Jensen licks a bloody kiss on Jared's cheek.

~fin~


End file.
